Snowed In
by kkanekki
Summary: Alfred didn't mean for him and his friends to get snowed in, of course he didn't. Bad things happened to him when it snowed, and he certainly didn't want his friends to know about his problems. His guests, Kiku, Francis, and Arthur, end up finding more about Alfred's life than they had expected. Who knew the young country had went through so much? M - for gore and language.
1. Football Game

This month's meeting went unusually well; each country talked about the plans for their economy, solved arguments and disputes, and who (theoretically) was the best Texas Hold 'Em player. However, that argument was solved when Germany pointed out it was all luck of the hand.

The countries all had flown out to the United States for the meeting, and it was no coincidence that the conference hall where the meeting took place was near Alfred's house.

Being a good host, Alfred invited everyone over to 'chill and watch some football', as he put it. Canada went because he had nothing better to do, France wanted to catch up with Canada, and England wanted to make fun of America's ridiculous obsession with wrongly named sports. Alfred practically begged Kiku to join them, simply so he could witness his reaction to American sports, but failing to remember Japan's obsession with baseball. Everyone else's flights were the next morning, so they couldn't make it.

(x)

Alfred was out shopping for refreshments when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

'Alfred, how accurate are your weather reports? The news forecast says there is going to be a blizzard'. - Arthur Kirkland

'relax it'll be fine and why are you using correct punctuation grandpa learn some texting etiquette jesus christ,' Alfred responded, paying for the groceries and walking out to his car.

The drive home was filled constant buzzing as Arthur yelled at him through text message, a rather ineffective way of disciplining his former colony.

Alfred owned a three room apartment in the heart of the city. It was a weathered brownstone building with stairs leading up to a rather large carved oak door. The interior was contemporary, with cream colored walls and soft plush carpet. A small opening to the right of held shoes, and directly to the right, the room opened up. There was a window nook where you could sit and read, a small dining table, and a bookshelf. Deeper into the house there was a living room. A medium sized TV sat in a dark wood entertainment center that took up most of the wall. The shelves were lined with a variety of movies, games, books, and photo albums.

On the opposite wall was a dark gray three cushion couch, with a small table next to it that held a lamp. The final wall possessed two bedroom doors, the one closest to the couch was Alfred's room, it also was where the only bathroom in the apartment was located. The other was the guest bedroom, and unofficially Matt's room.  
>Alfred's room was medium sized, with a full sized bed with a poofy grey comforter sitting low to the ground in the corner. A trash can and a bedside table stood beside it, and on it, a small lamp. Two large desks consumed the corner of the room, topped off with a laptop and stacks of papers; a small TV sat on a stack of books on the corner of his desk. The back wall of Alfred's room was a shelf for personal items and books. It was also the place where he kept all his suitcases and duffle bags.<p>

The guest room was smaller, with a bed that sat on a tall wooden bedframe, a bedside table that doubled as dresser, and on the back wall, a desk, a trash can, and a floor lamp. A cot was folded under the bed, in case there needed to be more than three places to sleep.

Alfred put the refreshments in the fridge and looked at the time. It was 3:55 PM; his guests should be arriving any minute.

Alfred's kitchen was tiny. Sitting in the far left corner of the house, it was mostly countertop. It was impossible to open the fridge door and dishwasher at once, and the stove door, when open, blocked off all the cabinets under the counter. A drying rack and toaster oven took up one side of the counter, and the sink took up the other, only leaving space for one or two plates either in between the two or at the end.

Matthew arrived first with Francis, bringing a bag of potato chips. Then Kiku, who gave Alfred a box of popular Japanese candy, wrapped neatly in pastel yellow paper. And finally Arthur, who arrived a good ten minutes after everyone else, with a six pack of beer.

"Pabst Blue Ribbon. Sheesh, this stuff is on the strong side," said Alfred, putting the beers on the countertop.

"Arthur," Matthew spoke up, "you do know the drinking age in the United States is twenty-one, right?"

"Oh well," Arthur snickered, shooting an amused glare at Alfred.

"Do you guys want anything to drink? I have soda,water, and Arthur brought beer."

"I want to try some American liquor." Francis spoke up, getting up and following Alfred into the kitchen.

"This one is on the strong side, at least for us. I heard European drinks were stronger than ours, though," Alfred commented, ripping a can off the pack and giving it to Francis.

(x)

"It gets dark early in America," said Kiku, looking out the window. He was sitting on one out of the two outdoor folding chairs that had to be set up so everyone had a place to sit.

"It's only because it's winter. It's way worse in other countries," Alfred remarked, noticing it was starting to snow. "Poor Sweden only gets one hour of sunlight during the winter."

(x)

As the game neared its end, Arthur spoke up, "It's really starting to come down heavy there, will it be safe to drive?"

"It's too dark to tell," Francis added.

"Yeah you're right, I'll go check…on the computer," Alfred said quietly, rubbing his temples and walking into his bedroom.

"What was that about?" Arthur asked, looking at Matthew.

"Looks like this snow storm is a rather big one, most of the country seems to be getting snowfall," Matt responded, checking the weather report on his phone, "the news says the meteorologists didn't predict it to be this intense."

"That's worrisome, but that doesn't answer why Amérique is acting unusual." added Francis, drinking the last of his beer.

"Alfred always has headaches. They get worse when the weather is bad or when the political parties are debating, which they are always doing," Matt explained, still reading news articles on his phone. "But it seems like an unearthly combination of both is happening right now."

"I hope Alfred doesn't get too sick." Kiku stated said worriedly.

"Dudes," Alfred said,sloppily walking back into the room, "there is like, four feet of snow on the ground already. You guys are stuck for the night."

Alfred's head was pounding. Not only were there multiple political campaigns were going on, but the blizzard had made car accidents increase. He could already feel the wrecks taking a toll on his body. He took some medicine while in his room, but it was going to take a while before it worked. It always made him groggy. He checked the time, 5:27 PM; at this rate he was going to crash by 6.

"That's unfortunate," Japan said. "Does that means flights are cancelled as well? I'll need to call and tell my boss they are."

"Count on it," said Alfred. He flopped down on the couch and turned down the volume on the TV. He wasn't interested in the game anymore, none of the teams he liked were playing that night anyway.

While the countries were calling their bosses and explaining the situation, Alfred went into the guest room to set up the spare bed. Matt kept a few changes of clothes and some toiletries in the top drawer of the dark dresser, but the other drawers were used for storage.

Alfred opened the spare drawers, taking out the sheets, blankets, and pillows and setting them on Matt's bed. Then, he took out the cot. Gripping the cold metal frame, he pulled it out from under the bed, the wheels leaving dents in the soft carpet. With a quick nudge upward, the bed sprung up, the thin mattress flopping on top.

His headache medicine started to take effect while he was making the bed. His eyelids grew heavy has the pounding reduced to a dull ache. The bed was made and pushed back against Matt's window, and now all he had to do was fix up the pull-out couch.

Alfred walked into the living room and yawned, his walking was shuffles now, and his eyelids were heavy. Despite that, he tried to be cheerful with his guests.

Matt was sitting in a vacant camping chair and talking to Francis enthusiastically in french.

Contrary to popular belief, Matt is actually a talkative person. He is a quiet person, though. Most people don't hear him, which bothers him; France acknowledges that he exists, though, and talks to him every chance he gets. Alfred is one of Matt's best friends, they spend most of their spare time together, which explains why Matt has his own room in Alfred's house and vice versa.

"I am going to, uhm, undo the couch thingy now, Francis, so… yeah." Alfred told Francis, who was sitting on the couch. He rubbed his face, god he was tired, we just ready to collapse…

"Al? You okay?" Asked Matthew. Alfred's eyes were closed and he was swaying heavily.

Extreme weather always tired Alfred out, there was no helping it, it just how things were for the countries. He usually slept it off but he had guests over…

Thump

(x)

Alfred woke up the next morning with another splitting headache and a foul taste in his mouth. Alfred looked down and saw that the trashcan beside his bed held vomit in it, he sighed, this usually happens when he didn't take his medicine. He took a tip of the water that was on his bedside table and laid flat on his back. Alfred hadn't noticed before, but there was someone else in the bed with him. He looked over and saw Matt, in the pair of pajamas he keeps at Alfred's house. He was fast asleep, curled up and hugging one of the pillows tightly. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep and truly happy. Alfred sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed. His eyes strained to look for Texas as his hand fumbled clumsily around the bedside table. Realizing they weren't there, he stood up to go look for them. A wave of nausea overtook him, and we was quickly on his knees barfing into the trash can. Matt hastily got up and rushed over to help Alfred. He hurried into the bathroom, grabbing a towel, some medicine, and Texas.

"Blekh, what happened last night?" America asked, spitting into the trash can and wiping his mouth with the towel.

After Alfred had washed out his mouth, brushed his teeth, and taken some medicine, Matthew started to explain from the beginning.

"You collapsed last night, Francis caught you before you could hit your head on the coffee table, so that's good. We tried to wake you up, but you out, Alfred, you were really tired."

"Sorry about that."

Alfred still had a headache, he was going to have to sleep off all the bad stuff until the country got adjusted to the snow.  
>Once his stomach settled he made his way to the kitchen. Lucky for him, someone had already made coffee.<p>

"Oh, Alfred you're awake," Kiku said, pouring a mug of coffee for him, "I hope you aren't feeling to bad. Arthur checked to see how much snow was on the ground before he went to bed, but when he opened the door, there was snow up to his waist!"

"It's even worse now." The Englishman commented. Arthur grunted as he sat up on the couch and stretched his back.

"Kiku." said Alfred.

"Hm?"

"Your bangs."

"Yes?"

"Do you usually clip them up?"

"Only in the mornings." Kiku responded, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Hmm, cute." Alfred commented, taking a sip of his coffee as well.

Arthur, Kiku, and Matt sat on the couch, and Alfred sat on one of the camping chairs. They decided on watching the morning news, to check the weather.

"New York is predicted to get eight feet of snow, with another blizzard coming in around noon." the Weather Man explained, pointing to various points on the blizzard. The giant snowstorm covered most of the New England states, which meant A) They were stranded in Alfred's house B) The planes wouldn't be flying anytime soon and C) Alfred's headaches would only get worse.

"Their fighting over whether or not to use salt on the roads, because it's bad for the environment and such," Alfred sighed. His face contorted in pain and he rubbed his temples, "there always has to be a debate, nothing is never good enough."

Arthur looked at his former colony worriedly. Alfred didn't exactly have the most efficient government, or land for all that matter. His bathroom countertop was lined with medication to reduce the pain of the common trembles on the west coast, the political debates, and every other issue that would affect him.

"Alfred."

"Yeah, Arthur?"

"I didn't know you spoke spanish."

The room filled with silence, Matt and Kiku anticipating Alfred's next words.

"Do you know how my country got it's people? They immigrated from yours of course, among other countries. How do you not know that."

Alfred was clearly annoyed Arthur of all people didn't know his history. Maybe he'll give him an american history textbook for his birthday to get back at him.

"You were throwing up in the bathroom last night and you were speaking spanish. Also, don't snap at me you fucker," Arthur stopped at took a sip of his coffee, "I tried to find out what was wrong, but you were just mumbling in spanish."

"Was I? I don't remember…"

"Do you know what caused it?" Kiku asked.

"Yeah, I have to take this stuff so I won't throw up at night, because the west coast gets so many little earthquakes, and it upsets my stomach while I sleep. 'Cuz ya know… time zones and such."

Alfred caught Kiku looking at him. His dark brown eyes filled with worry, and damn, was it cute. Alfred noticed he was wearing a pair of Matt's old blue pajama pants that no longer fitted him and a worn red tee shirt that stopped past his waist. Even though the pant's legs were rolled up, they will were extremely long. His head was resting on his knees as he watched the news intentively. Alfred couldn't help but blush. Kiku's stupid fucking hair and the baggy pajama pants- it was too much.

Arthur, on the other hand, was wearing a pair of Alfred's plain red pajama pants and a white tee shirt that he filled rather nicely, even though he was lankier than him. His eyebrows furrowed as the news cast talked about different campaign strategies used by the different political parties. He had dark circles under his eyes, which were a duller green from lack of sleep.

Matthew was dozing off in between the other countries, his head back against the wall, his legs spread out, and his coffee loosely braced on his huge hands. He was wearing grey sweatpants and his sweatshirt, and his glasses were pushed up on his forehead.

Alfred yawned and made his way to the kitchen. The news only amplified his head ache, but his guests seemed to be invested in it, so he wasn't going to say anything. He rinsed out his mug and put it in the dishwasher, not planning to get a new cup anytime soon. Not that he could stomach it, unfortunately he loses his appetite when he doesn't take his nausea medicine. He walked over to the reading nook and looked out the window. White. The whole ground was covered and it was still snowing. Not as harsh of course, but every flake meant his head pounded harder.

"I need to sleep this off, help yourselves to whatever. Matt practically lives here so ask him for stuff." Alfred said groggily, slipping into his room and closing the door.

It was going to be a rough couple of days.


	2. Earthquakes and Photo Albums

**((Just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed. It made my day and I happy you liked the hinted ameripan!))**

"Is Amérique still asleep?" Francis asked, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes.

"He just went back to bed, sleeping beauty."

"So you think I am beautiful, Angleterre?"

"Shut up."

Once Francis has made himself a cup of coffee, he settled down on the bright orange camping chair Alfred was sitting in only a handful of minutes before.

Francis couldn't see a damn thing, he hadn't planned on spending the night, so he didn't bring any contact solution or his glasses. It was a good thing he was nearsighted, or he would have spilled the coffee everywhere. Not only is this going to add to the list of possible insults Angleterre could use against him, he was probably going to get wrinkles under his eyes from straining them. Fuck.

He was wearing a pair of Amérique's gray sweatpants and one of Matt's old blue tee shirts, a comfortable, rather unfashionable, outfit.

Francis notice Amérique's house had little color. The plush carpet was white, the walls were creamed colored, and most of the furniture was grey or dark brown. The only room that was colorful was Matthew's room. His bed frame was light blue, with a faded dark blue comforter laying neatly on top. Some hockey posters hung over the desk, making the room feel rather childish, even though Matthew was older than Alfred.

Francis couldn't see a damn letter on the TV, and he hadn't even realized he was squinting until Arthur pointed it out.

"Why do you keep squinting like an idiot, frog?" Arthur chuckled.

"I didn't plan on spending the night, black sheep, so I don't have my glasses with me." Francis snapped. He hadn't even finished his coffee and he was getting made fun of by Angleterre.

"Y-you have glasses? HA! The fucking frog can't see his flies very well, can he?"

(x)

"Shit." Matthew whispered. People on social media were blowing up, arguing about who was the best candidate, and why they were the best. Both of them had a lot of supporters, with debates going on between the parties every other second. On top of that, articles were being released about how the snow was effecting ill citizens who couldn't reach the hospital. The death count was rising quickly, car accidents not helping that number.

(x)

A muffled sound could be heard inside Alfred's room; Kiku was the first to open the door.

Alfred was pale and hung over the side of the bed, vomiting into the trash can beside his bed. He was rocking back and forth and holding his head in pain. His face contorted as he vomited again.

"Alfred, what's wrong? What do you need?" Kiku said in a slightly frantic voice. It was scary seeing the young country so pale. Alfred's shirt rode up, revealing a discolored ugly raised scar, horizontal to his ribs. A wave of guilt washed over Kiku, even though he still had his scars from the bombings on his land, he had never seen Alfred's.

"Ha habido un cinco punto tres terremoto follando en California …" Explained Alfred. He coughed and spit into the trashcan and closed his eyes. He was sweating and shaking rather badly, it was a good thing the earthquake wasn't worse than a 5.3, or he would have been throwing up bile. Still, his insides were a wreck, and he still had to deal with a possible aftershock.

"Al?" It was Matt now, rubbing his back and nudging a glass of water in his hand.

"Duele…"

"Rinse out your mouth, I am going to get some medicine for you, okay?"

"Muchas gracias," thanked Alfred, swallowing the pills, "Esto es una mierda , lo siento que ustedes tienen de verme de esta manera. Mi país es un poco jodido ahora mismo, sobre todo con la nieve y todo…"

"Shh Alfred, it's okay. Just sleep right now, it's okay." Matt said. He had no idea what Alfred was saying, but going off what Arthur said about last night he was sure Alfred was talking about the earthquakes in California.

Poor Alfred probably wasn't even aware he was speaking spanish.

(x)

"It is unfortunate that we cannot understand Alfred at the moment," Worried Kiku, "What if something bad happened and he is trying to tell us?"

"The only time I have seen Alfred truly in a panic and trying to tell me something was when Pearl Harbor happened. He was trying to tell me what was going on, but I couldn't understand anything he was saying. I learned later from him that he was switching between all the languages spoken in America." Matt explained.

That was probably the most frightening experience Matt shared with Alfred. It was a normal day at his house, and they were eating lunch and listening to a baseball game on the radio. Then Alfred suddenly paled and ran into the bathroom, throwing up blood. His eyes were wide open and he was shaking uncontrollably, and he was crying. Hard. Most of what he was saying was in a number of different languages, and the few sentences in english were incomprehensible.

Kiku was filled with guilt when he heard that Alfred's most frightening moment was caused by him. Alfred knew Kiku was forever guilty, and even though all was forgiven, both of them still had scars from the tragedy. Kiku's scars, unlike Alfred's single thick horizontal scar, were discolored, and went down the sides of his torso vertically, parallel to each other.

"How many bloody languages does Alfred know?" Arthur inquired.

"Beside English, Spanish, and all the native languages, Al knows well over eight, " Matt told them. He paused to think for a moment, crossing his arms, "If I am accurate, besides the languages I told you he knows French, German, Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese, Russian, Arabic, Portuguese, Polish, and Italian."

"Holy fuck."

"Amérique knows nineteen languages?!"

"That is most impressive."

(x)

"I didn't know Alfred kept photo albums." Arthur said. He was keeping himself entertained by browsing Alfred's book collection.

"Oh! Uhm, Arthur, you shouldn't touch that one." Matthew said, reaching for the book. But it was too late.

Arthur flipped one of the pages and found a picture of Alfred and some other men Arthur didn't recognize. The picture wasn't a picture at all in reality. It was a painting that had been scanned and printed to fit in the book. Alfred was much younger in this picture, and wore a revolutionary war uniform. Arthur then realised what this was. It was a picture of Alfred and his military friends. They were dirty and damaged, but they were happy. There were names and dates written on the bottom of the page, telling who the friends were, their birth dates, and their death dates. These were his friends, who he fought beside for their freedom.

The page on the other side of the book was not as heartwarming, though. It was a collage of photos from various wars. One in particular caught Arthur's attention. It was of Alfred and his troop. They were marching solemnly through a marsh. Injured men were being carried on stretchers, their clothes stained with blood. One stretcher in particular was simply carrying corpses for burial. Alfred was the closest to the cameraman, his eyes fixed intensly on something in the distance. It was painful for Arthur to see his former colony like this. Alfred looked exhausted in this photograph, his body slouched forward in motion. His eyes were full of dread, his face and clothes were stained in blood; bloody hands were wrapped tightly around his rifle, ready to shoot what he was focusing on.

Matthew took the book from Arthur's hands, closing it and putting it carefully back into it's place.

"There are some things in his albums that he doesn't like to talk about." Matt said seriously. Didn't Arthur know better than not to snoop around?

"I didn't know Alfred fought in his wars."

"Well he did, and it is painful for him."

The room was silent, the other countries filed with disbelief. To imagine that Alfred fought in every war his country was in…

Kiku noticed that Matthew said _is_ very painful for him instead of _was_ very painful for him. Was Alfred still affected by the wars he participated in?  
>Kiku worried for Alfred, he seemed like a happy person, but recent events involving earthquakes and snowstorms told him that not everything was easy for the young country.<p>

(x)

"New York is trapped under eight feet of snow, making this the worst snowstorm in a long time." The reporter announced.

"This is bad." Kiku said, the reporter now talking about the political campaigns.

"It looks like we will be here for a while, no?" The frenchman added.

"That is the least of our worries," Matthew spoke up, "Once this snow starts to melt there will be floods. And there still is a possible aftershock of the earthquake that happened earlier."  
>"Does Alfred not have to proper medication to handle these disasters?" Kiku asked.<p>

"Noticeable earthquakes that bring aftershocks don't happen very often, so it's not the government's top priority to develop medicine to counter it."

"That's bloody ridiculous! He's a fucking country!"

Kiku was shocked. His government had developed all sorts of earthquake medication for him, and he had less earthquakes than America. Did the government even care that he was a country?

(x)

Later in the day, Arthur went to check up on his former colony.

"It hurts, Matt." Alfred said upon hearing someone enter.

"Guess again, how are you feeling?" Arthur sighed.

"Like my country is in the gutter."

Alfred was lying on his back, one arm place over his eyes and the other wrapped around his stomach. He was still rather pale, and his breathing was now ragged. The reporter had said something about the power going out in numerous cities. Were too many people not warm enough? Were they trapped out in the cold? With the dry weather and no way to get medicine or to a doctor citizens were getting sick easily; old buildings were collapsing and trees were falling as well. Alfred had never been a sickly boy. What had changed? Arthur decided to fetch his former colony something to eat, knowing it was good to replenish your calories when you are sick.

"Is Al ok?"

"He's a bit pale, and his breathing has gotten a bit worse. I am going to make him something to eat."

"Oh no your not Angleterre! Do you want him to feel better or do you want to earn him to get his stomach pumped!" Francis hollered.

He jump in front of the Englishman, blocking him from entering the kitchen. God knows if he let Arthur cook the fire department would have to be called.

"Kiku and I will prepare something for poor Amérique."

"That sounds like a good idea." Kiku said.

The two countries decided on making soup for Alfred. He didn't have the ingredients for it, but together they could make canned soup taste much better.

(x)

"Amérique? You should try to eat." Francis said sympathetically, handing the bowl to Alfred.

Alfred huffed, sitting up and leaning against the backboard. He crossed his legs, making a place for the bowl to go.

They were just about to leave when Alfred spoke up, "Wait."

"Kiku, can you stay I am bored and I want someone to talk to."

"Sure."

Kiku grabbed the desk chair and rolled it across the plush carpet.

"Doesn't your head hurt, Alfred?" asked Kiku. He didn't plan on staying long, Alfred needed to rest.

"Like hell, but I'll die of boredom if my country doesn't kill itself first." Alfred said, stirring his soup.

Kiku noticed Alfred's hands were shaking. He tried to pick up a spoonful of soup but he couldn't get his hands to stay still. He sighed, put the spoon down, and cracked his knuckles.

"So, uhm, how do you like American football?" Alfred said, changing the subject.

"You are shaking, Alfred, are you cold? Do you need a blanket?"

"No, I, uhm, it's just a side effect from... uh, it gets worse when I am sick though."

Looking back, Alfred would always rub his hands during meetings. Not only that but he would tune other's out and focus intensely on his notes, like he was trying to perfect how neat his writing was. Kiku always thought it was a weird quirk Alfred had, because he would do it so often. Alfred was even rubbing his hands now, trying to crack his knuckles occasionally.

"It sucks, really," Alfred began, staring sadly into his bowl, "This is what I get for defending myself."


	3. Patriotism

**((Some of you were wondering why Alfred has shaky hands. This is all going to be explained this chapter. Also, this fic is going to be a little on the sad side until the latter chapters, but that might change! A big thanks to everyone who reviewed!))**

The countries were bored. They had been warned by Matthew not to touch the photo albums or the history books, which came at a surprise to them, until they saw each book had various tabs on them, each containing a date.

Alfred's 'fun' books were thrillers on zombie apocalypses and dystopian societies; two genres that can only go so far. They finally decided on making popcorn and watching some trash American TV, which Francis seemed more than interesting in watching.

"You and Kirsten have been fighting since the party on my yacht!" One of the housewives yelled. Surely it had to be an act, no one had lives so ridiculous. Most of the women seemed serious about it, though.

"American television at it's finest." Arthur joked, taking a handful of popcorn.

Kiku was duelling on both what Matthew had said and what he had seen. The wars he participated in did seem to affect Alfred. Present tense. The young country was always happy at the meetings, making jokes and inviting people over to watch football…

"Kiku? You okay?" asked Matthew. Kiku looked up and saw Matthew staring intensely at him. His blue-violet eyes were hidden behind his glasses, he looked a lot like Alfred, but his build was much smaller. Needless to say, he was beautiful, getting his looks from Francis.

"Can we talk?" Kiku asked, "In the kitchen?"

The two countries made their way to Alfred's tiny kitchen. The small exchange had caught Arthur's attention, and it would have caught Francis's, if he weren't so invested in the trash that was The Real Housewives. Arthur was keen on finding out what Kiku needed to talk to Matt about. He sat on the edge of the couch and focused his listening on them.

"It's about Alfred, you said the wars he was in still affected him. When I was talking to him in his room, his hands were shaking and he couldn't pick up his spoon. He didn't say what caused it, but he said it was a side effect from something and that it gets worse when he is ill," Kiku explained, "I am worried for him."

Matthew sighed and rubbed his face. He had to be more careful with his words. Alfred really didn't like talking about it, but it was something that we had been meaning to tell everyone. He obviously hadn't done it already, and his friends needed to know the truth.

"Kiku, do you know why Al participates in his wars? It's because he is very patriotic, and feels that he is not worthy to be a country until he has done all he can to serve. He served for so long, Kiku, he lost so many people..." Matthew paused, choosing his next words carefully, "One of the big reasons Al went back into isolationism after World War One is because he was shot in his primary motor cortex."

Matthew remembered when he heard the news of Al's injury. Al had been shot in the part of the brain that controls his arms. His helmet had helped the bullet from not going deeper in his brain, but there was still damage. He had lost all movement in his right arm and could barely move his left. They were able to remove the bullet, but technology back then wasn't as advanced, and he slipped into a coma. That was half of his isolationism. When he woke up he wouldn't talk, not even to Matt. Vigorous speech and physical therapy had been able to help that, but he still had long lasting effects. His eye sight decreased after that, and he had to get actual glasses. His hands would shake as well. Al spent so much time in physical therapy, he would even practice his motor skills at home, but nothing helped the shakiness. He was ashamed of it, no matter how many people thanked him for his service. Every word of thankfulness was another reminder of how he had gotten himself injured and discharged. He couldn't serve anymore. He wasn't worthy of the country title.

There was an awkward silence after Matthew had finished explaining everything. The television was muted and both Arthur and Francis sat in silence. Alfred was so young, and he thought so low of himself.

'This explains all the medication in the bathroom.' Arthur thought to himself. All the countries had medication that they took incase of a disaster or political unrest, but it seemed Alfred had to take these all the time, or he would get in a worse situation than he is in now. He remembered when Alfred returned from isolationism. He was unusually quiet, he wouldn't speak up at all during the meetings. Matthew would nudge him, as if calling him back from a far away place, when he was called on. For the first few months Alfred had a far away look in his eyes. All the countries took notice of that. They had just thought he was depressed because he had been isolated from his friends. Alfred started to speak up more in the meetings, which dismissed their worries. Except for Matthew's, who looked at his brother with worry, but Arthur simply thought it was because Matthew was the kind of person to worry.

Kiku and Matthew walked back into the living room. Matthew realized they probably overheard their conversation in the small house.

"Did you guys hear that? Shit, eh, could you not talk about it in front of him? He is, uh, ashamed of his problems." Matthew explained in a slight panic, his accent showing through his normal speech.

"Poor Amérique…"

(x)

Alfred was feeling a bit better, so he decided to take advantage of it before the aftershock came. He put on his glasses, swung his feet over the bed, and stood up, bracing himself on the wall, he made his way over to the wardrobe. He took out a pair of jeans and a pale pink tee shirt.

Once he was dressed he made his way over to the bathroom and looked at the bottles lining the countertop. It was awful, he had medication for everything. He filled a glass with water and gulped it down, he tried to steady his hands and fill the glass again, but it slipped from his hand and shattered in the sink. Cursing, he turned off the water and started to pick of the glass.

"Alfred? Is everything okay?" asked Arthur.

Shit.

"No yeah everything is fine, it's okay." Alfred reassured him. He quickly put the glass into a towel, cutting himself in the process.

"Bloody hell!" Arthur exclaimed, running to Alfred and taking hold of his hand.

"Why didn't you ask for help? There is no shame in breaking a glass, Alfred."

"No it's okay, I just was feeling better that's all, I'll clean it up. Can you, uhm, get out please?" Alfred said.

Arthur wrapped up the glass in a towel and left the bathroom reluctantly, worrying for his former colony.

Alfred looked at his bloody hands. Why did he have to be so fucked up? No, no he's wrong. He's fucking America! The hero! Heros have obstacles like everyone else. Besides, he needed to be happy for his guests. With some difficulty, he opened his pill bottles and took his medication. Grabbing a spare glass he filled it with water and emptied it into his stomach.

After he was done getting ready for the day, or, well, afternoon, he walked out into the living room.

"Are you feeling better, Alfred?" Kiku asked. Something was off about how he was speaking, though. It was too kind, a little forced. In fact, all of them seemed to be staring at him.

Alfred coughed, "Uh, yeah I am, thanks for asking."

Alfred paused, thinking about what he could do to entertain his guests.

"Okay, so who wants to have a good time before I turn into a sweaty mess again?"

His jokes really needed some work.

"Video games, anyone? Matt? I know you wanted to play The Walking Dead Game with me."

Alfred walked over to the entertainment center and opened up the bottom cabinet. He turned on the PS4 and grabbed a controller. He looked through his collection of games, picking out the one that had been chosen. He still had a headache, and he would give anything to just go back to bed and sleep, but there were guests to entertain and puns to be cracked. He put the disk in the console and took a step back, getting it set up. He gripped the controller tight, determined not to let anyone see his shakiness.

"Here ya go. I'll be right back, I'm famished." He said, handing the controller to Matthew.

Alfred decided on a peanut butter sandwich. He laid out the ingredients on a cutting board. He started making his sandwich when he heard Arthur behind him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were shot?"

Alfred sighed. He knew something was up, "What do you know?"

"I know that you were seriously injured during your isolationism."

"That's the basics."

"Why didn't you write?"

"Multiple reasons, Arthur, don't act like you don't know how isolationism works."

Alfred put his sandwich on a plate and left the room, ending the conversation. When he walked into the living room he noticed that the sun was already setting, sighing, he sat down next to Matt and started eating.

They played the game for a while, discussion the best options, and fighting over some. Kiku would remind everyone that they were on a timer and they needed to hurry up a decide.

"How unfortunate, Shawn was a good looking guy, no?" Francis said. They had decided to try and save him. He was older, smarter, and stronger than the kid, Duck, so it seemed like the rational choice. Kenny, unfortunately, hated them for the remainder of the game.

Alfred felt sorry for Kenny. He knew what it was like to lose someone important to him. He knew that feeling all too well. Maybe he'll go back and save Duck on a rainy day.

After a while they decided to turn off the game and watch some TV.

"American media is very strange." Kiku said, flipping through the channels.

"Can't argue with that, but look whos talking." Alfred chuckled.

They decided on watching a film called Moon.

Alfred had a good time, his headaches slowly got worse, but most of the time he was distracted on the movie or a conversation. Matt got out some chips that hadn't gotten eaten and was sharing them with Francis as they exchanged simple conversation next to him on the couch. Kiku was situated in the orange camping chair, his knees brought up to his chest and his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the plot. It was a rather cute sight, seeing the petite man trying to understand what was going on. Arthur was focused intensely on the movie as well, it being a British film. He was sitting in the second red camping chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupped over his mouth. Like Kiku, his huge eyebrows furrowed in focus.

Towards the end of the movie, Alfred wondered if there was even going to be an aftershock. Personally, he was more concerned with the flooding that was going to happen when it warmed up. Flooding usually had him in a sweaty mess and running a high fever. His breath rattled, people all over the country were developing respiratory issues because of the dry weather. For countries like Canada, where is was constantly cold, they had adapted to the weather. But America had a range of temperatures, so it was nearly impossible to be adapted to all of them.

'The curse of being a big country.' He thought.

(x)

Alfred woke up in the middle of the night with extreme nausea. He knew what this was, of course, there was no avoiding it. He staggered over to the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet. The whole room was spinning and he had a pounding headache. He didn't even realize someone else had come into the bathroom.

"Alfred, are you okay?"

It was Kiku. He walked into the bathroom and kneeled down beside Alfred, who spit and groaned into the toilet.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Kiku asked, rubbing Alfred's back.

Had Kiku said something? Alfred wasn't exactly sure. He felt as if he was having an out of body experience. His vision was blurry without his glasses, and he could only hear the pounding of his head.

"La habitación está girando…" Alfred moaned.

Kiku sighed. The aftershock. He wished there was something he could do to help him, but Alfred didn't carry the ingredients for a remedy. Japan had their own earthquakes, of course, but he only has 1,500 earthquakes annually. America has over 10,000 earthquakes annually.

Alfred's was discolored and he was shaking hard. Kiku grabbed a blanket from the other room and put it over his shoulders.

So they sat there, on the floor of Alfred's bathroom. Kiku rubbing his back and Alfred occasionally puking in the toilet.

Alfred slept all day after that.


	4. Old Friends And Sweet Songs

**(( Korra is over and I don't know what to do with my life ( ; _ ;) - A little bit of gore in this chapter. Also, we get to travel into the past a few times :Þ ))**

"Why did Amérique not tell us he had poor health?" Francis asked.

"He was ashamed of it, wouldn't you be?" Matthew responded.

He got out the snow shovel. Roads were slowly but surely starting to be cleared, now that the meteorologists had confirmed there wouldn't be anymore snow. Even though Alfred only owned a staircase and a small part of sidewalk, it was his property, and it needed to be cleaned. Matthew usually took over the job, since Alfred would get sick when it snowed, so he had the upper body strength to do the job. He got his snow clothes out of his dresser and got ready for the snow.

"You are crazy, mon ami, there is eight feet of snow on the ground, and you are going to try and shovel it."

"That's what brother's do for each other, risk our immortality for staircases."

(x)

Alfred's ears rang and he could only see white. The air was hot with fire and humidity. He tried to rub the blindness from his eyes, where was he?

He was suddenly pulled back into reality. He was in Germany. He was fighting. There had been an explosion. Alfred looked around for his friend. He had to find him. He had to find Pops. He had to know he was okay.

Alfred spotted his friend a few feet away. Something was wrong, though. He was laying down, he never would lay down on the battlefield, he wasn't that stupid. There was a puddle of blood forming beneath his friend, but that wasn't his. It couldn't be. He would never get injured, he was too good a person to get injured.

Alfred scrambled over to his bleeding friend, or, what was left of his friend.

Alfred dropped his first aid kit to the ground and scrambled to open it, there was something in here to help him. There had to be.

He felt a strong hand grab his arm.

It was Pops. He was crying. Pops never cried. He was too tough. Alfred watched in horror as Pops's deep brown eyes filled with tears. His final breaths were uneven and threatening. His voice rattled with the name of his daughter, "Claire..." Pop's body slumped in Alfred's arms, lifeless.

"P-pops! C-come on Pops, c-come on! You're gonna make it, Pops. You gotta, y-you have a little g-girl waiting for you at home. Y-you gotta make it home!" Alfred sobbed, putting pressure on his friend's wound. He tried to cover it with a piece of cloth, but there was nothing to cover. The right half of his friend's torso was gone. He abandoned the cloth and placed his hands over his friend's heart, pushing rhythmically. Pops wasn't dead. He was going to make it, Alfred had to at least try.

Bullets whized past both of them, entrails strewn across the battlefield. Pops was one of Alfred's best friends in the army. He was a father figure to him, showed him around camp when he had first enlisted. He did that for all the new recruits. Pops believed in tough love, and would wrestle for fun. He was a real down to earth guy, the type that had god awful humor that never failed to put a smile on your face. He worked hard, he had to, for his family. He had a little girl back in South Carolina he had to care for. A little girl named Claire that was left with his sister, Ruth, while all the men went to war. Pops would tell Alfred how Claire loved wearing pigtails in her curly black hair, and how she had a smile like her mother's. Her mother died in childbirth, so Pops was the only parent she had. He had to make it back. He had to make it back for his pride and joy.

Pops always told Alfred to look after his little girl if he didn't make it. Nearly everyday, like he knew he wouldn't make it out.

"'Make sure she grows up right. If I don't make it out of here, make sure she grows up right.' Say that to me, dammit!" Alfred's vision blurred, tears filled his eyes behind his broken glasses, "Say it to me, just one more time. P-please..."

Alfred looked down at what was left of his friend. Pop's dark brown skin was covered in blood and sweat, entrails were spilling out from his right side.

Alfred looked at the dog tag wrapped around Pops's neck.

'PAUL RUFUS JOHNSON.' It read.

"POPS!" Alfred screamed, leaning into his friends shoulder.

_Crack_

His arms went limp.

(x)

Alfred woke with a start. It was dark and his vision was blurry. Why was his face wet? Had something happened? He through the covers off his body and got up quickly, his head spinning in the process. He wobbly paced the room. What was happening? Pops would know. He had to find Pops's bunk.

"Alfred? Is that you? Are you okay?"

"Arthur? W-what are you doing in my camp?" Alfred responded frantically.

'His camp? What was he talking about?' Arthur thought. He started toward Alfred, who was pacing the room. His hands were curled up in his chest, trembling viciously.

"Alfred-" the Englishman started. Alfred turned toward the sounds of his voice. His grief-stricken eyes were glazed over and looked directly passed him. He was sleepwalking.

"Is everything alright?" A quiet voice asked from Alfred's bed.

"Alfred appears to be sleepwalking," Arthur whispered back, "he's shaking rather violently."

"Shit." Matthew cursed, carefully getting up, grabbing the blanket from the bed.

Alfred continued to pace the room, something was going on that made him more frantic as time went on. His breathing became uneven, and his arms rattled against his chest.

"Hey," Matthew said in a soothing voice, "why are you awake?"

He draped the blanket over Alfred's broad shoulders. Alfred took the blanket in his hands, securing it in it's place.

"I need to find Pops," He croaked. Tears started to stream down his face. He started to cry harder, his shoulders curling inwards, "... C-claire needs to g-grow up r-right."

"She did, Alfred, she became a wonderful young lady, eh." Matt said sleepily, gently guiding Alfred toward the bed. Alfred followed Matt's lead, occasionally stopping and asking how Claire was doing. Matt would respond with things like, 'She got into medical school, isn't that great, Alfred?' or 'She's getting married in May to a wonderful man named George'. Alfred would sniffle and say that's great and how she deserved to be happy.

Arthur had never seen Alfred like this. When he was a colony he occasionally sleep walked, but it was always about random fairytales he was dreaming of. He thought about all the tabs on the history books. Did Alfred have a habit of making human friends? He remembered how heartbroken he was when he figured out what happened to Davie, why would he let himself get attached to humans?

Alfred curled up on the bed, his shaky hands wiping his eyes as he slowly drifted back asleep.

Matthew sighed with relief, "That was easy."

"It's hard sometimes?"

"At least he didn't sleepwalk one of his friend's death. That is a lot scarier..." Matthew explained, carefully climbing back into his side of the bed, "see you in the morning, Arthur."

"Right."

(x)

"It's not like Alfred to sleep in this late, is it?" Kiku asked. He poured both him and Matthew a cup of coffee, which they were running out of.

"He had… A rough time last night." Matthew responded. He poured some cream and sugar into his coffee. He hated the bitter taste, but he felt as if his morning wasn't complete without it. Kiku grunted in response and made his way over the the window. Snow covered half of it, but it wasn't as bad as when it first stopped snowing. It was day four of them being trapped; The first thing they realized is that Alfred didn't keep a lot of junk food in the house, and the second thing was there was a washing machine and dryer stacked on top of each other in a closet in the bathroom. They had all showered and gotten back into their clothes, Arthur was on the couch reading a murder mystery, Matthew was in the kitchen doing the dishes, and Francis was invested in the drama that was going on the TV. Middle aged women yelled over one another while their husbands sat in the corner, quietly conversing and drinking alcoholic beverages.

'America has a lot of trash TV.' Kiku thought to himself. He wondered what Matt ment when he said Alfred had a rough night. He did hear someone walking, but he just thought someone went to the bathroom. Kiku liked Alfred more than he would like to admit. He always make sure Kiku was included in things, they even lived together for a little while. When Alfred heard that Kiku prefered tea, he look him out to the World Market and bought him some. He even showed him around the city. The way Alfred showed it to Kiku made it look like the most beautiful place in the world. There were old buildings overflowing with plants and moss, street performers, and hotels that would go all out for the holidays. He had fun living with Alfred, even if it was for a short time. Kiku had his own books, so he never thought to look browse Alfred's collection. He kept to himself, so he never really noticed Alfred's absence on some days. Alfred would always rub his hands and crack his knuckles, he thought it just was a nervous habit Alfred had. He would often play an old record player he owned, the sound of trumpets swinging along to the piano as Alfred sat in the window nook and read an old book. Occasionally, he would get up and walk around the room, swinging to the beat of the song.

"Ozzie Nelson, _The Folks Who Live on the Hill_, " Alfred would say humming along to the song, "I remember when I would go out and dance to this song. I miss those times, Kiku, I really do." Alfred would look at him with somber blue eyes, like he was remembering an something incredible that he would never experience again.

"Did you ever go dancing with your war buddies, Kiku?"

"Kiku? You okay?" Matthew said, putting his hand on Kiku's shoulder, "You've been staring at nothing."

"Oh, sorry to worry you. I am fine." Kiku said. He turned away from the window and sat on the couch. He looked at the record player, sitting on the shelf in it's usual place.

(x)

Alfred didn't feel like getting out of bed today, he didn't feel like doing anything. He sighed and tightened his grip on his covers. He couldn't stay in bed forever, he knew that. He willed himself to sit up. Crossing his legs, he wrapped the plush gray comforter around his shoulders. He sat there for a while, in the dark, staring into nothing. Reluctantly, he reached over and turned on the lamp next to his bed and stood up. He balled up the warm comforter and threw it on the bed, officially discarding it's warmth. He walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and proceeded to take a shower.

The warm water was comforting, he stretched his back and cleaned himself. He needed this shower, they always made him feel better when he had nightmares like the one last night...

He remembered when he woke up in the hospital, Matthew was seated next to him, everything was blurry without his glasses on, though. The grip on his hand tightened and he felt tears fall on his skin. He tried to say something, but only a huff came out.

"Shh it's okay, Al, it's going to be okay." Matt said, running his hand through Alfred's hair. His head was heavily bandaged, and it throbbed with pain.

'Pops...' Alfred mouthed, no sound coming out. Alfred started crying, his blue eyes overflowing with tears. He tried to rub his eyes, but his arms felt like lead. He was so out of it, nodding in and out of consciousness.

"Holy shit." A voice said from the doorway. It was Samuel, a friend of Alfred's. Samuel was tall and lanky, with dark brown hair and green eyes. He had the longest eyelashes you would ever see on a boy. One of his legs was wrapped up tightly and propped up on his wheelchair. Alfred groggily looked at his friend, his shoulder and neck were bandaged, Alfred could see a scab poking over top of the gauze on his neck. Samuel wheeled over to Alfred, tears threatening to spill over his eyelids.

"When I picked you up, Al, I thought you were dead. The way Pops was." Samuel croaked, stopping for a moment. Even though he couldn't see it for himself, he knew Samuel was crying.

"I got us outta there, kid, I did." Samuel sobbed, his grip replacing Matthews. He leaned into Alfred's arm, crying softly.

Alfred cried silently next to him and nodded. Samuel had saved him, the United Stated of America, and had gotten shot and badly burned in the process.

Alfred would sleep most of his days away, but the nurses would often make him go to the lounge and socialize. Not that he could. Samuel would talk to him as often as possible, though, being patient as Alfred processed what Samuel had said to him and grunted in acknowledgement. Alfred lost a lot of weight. He barely ate anything at the time. Samuell would always joke to him about how Alfred was turning into the lanky one. Alfred would huff at the joke and that would be their conversation.

Samuel and Matthew would help Alfred with his speech therapy, encouraging him to participate in conversations and asking his opinion on things. They were patient as Alfred expressed his opinion in slow, stuttering words. Some days he wouldn't talk at all, he didn't know why he didn't talk. He just couldn't process the words, he couldn't get them to come out of his mouth. Sometimes he didn't even huff. A month passed and he was able to pick up things, dropping them occasionally, but it was good enough for him. he struggled to steady his hands, he tried everything, but they wouldn't stop trembling. The doctors had told him the trembling may never completely go away, but it would get better with time. He yearned for the day he was discharged, so he could go and see Claire.

"Www-whe-en?" Alfred asked Matthew oneday. Alfred was sitting on a chair in the visiting room, squeezing a stress ball. Matthew smiled at the fact Alfred had voluntarily said something to him, after weeks of silence. Samuel had informed Matthew of what happened to Pops, and what he would say to Alfred if he had not made it out.

"Soon, Al, you'll be out of here soon." Matthew responded kindly.

The first thing Alfred did when he was discharged was buy a train ticket to South Carolina. Matthew insisted that he joined Alfred on his journey, but Alfred did not allow him to come.

"I-I haa-ave to." Alfred said sternly, but quietly.

When he arrived at Claire's aunt's house, an older man answered the door. He shared so many traits with Pops, Alfred wondered for a moment if that was his friend.

"Yes?" the old man said, his voice croaking with age.

Alfred extented a shaky hand, "I ammm P-p-popss's f-frieend, Aaalll-lfred-d." He smiled, proud of his short sentence.

The old man smiled sadly and gripped Alfred's hand tight, "Thank you for coming, Alfred, I am James. Pops's father."

James invited Alfred into the house. It was a pretty white house in a small neighborhood outside a big city. They sat in the living room and talked for a while. Though Alfred had gotten better with his words, the conversation was awkward and choppy.

"Pops talked about you in his letters, you know. He said you are a cheerful guy, a pleasure to be around. Did something happen to you, Alfred? He said you were a talkative guy, and I just can't see that." James said. He was brutally honest, just like Pops.

"Go-aught hu-urt." Alfred responded, a shaky hand pointing to his head, "P-pops ta-alke-d a-bou-t h-hiss famil-ee… H-hee w-wwass-ss a-ah g-good mma-an." he nervously rubbed his hands. Pops had always told Alfred his family was tough, but accepting.

"H-he wa-aas mm-y b-bess-t p-p-pal," Alfred continued, rubbing his knuckles harder, "t-t-tol-d m-me t-t-o mm-ak-e sh-sur-e…" He couldn't get the words out. He knew what he wanted to say but they wouldn't come out. Alfred looked at James, his old eyes waiting patiently for Alfred to finish.

Alfred coughed, "U-uh, h-he t-t-t-old m-me… Cl-ai-re-ee neeed-de-d t-to… t-to gg-ro-ww u-pp… r-righ-t-t." Alfred struggled on the last part, his voice fading out in various parts of the sentence.

He looked at James nervously, the old man smiled at him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, "He told us that as well, in his letters. Claire is at school right now, and her aunt, Ruth, is out shopping. Would you like to join us for dinner, Alfred?"

Alfred hummed a yes and shook his head.

During dinner, Alfred tried his best to keep up a conversation. He had to apologize a few times for dropping his fork on his plate and making a racket, until James assured him he didn't have to excuse himself anymore. Alfred tried his best to explain that if they ever ran into money trouble, to call him, and it would be taken care of.

"I a-amm imm-imm-mmport-tan-t-t i-n Dee-ee C-Cee-e. M-mon-e-ee is-ss n-no-t-t… a-an i-i… sh-sh-ue." Alfred struggled to explain...

Alfred recalled the obstacles he faced when he was trying to recover as he washed the shampoo out of his hair. He had come a long way from he was first injured, and that was something to be proud of.

(x)

Alfred got dressed in some old jeans and a red tee-shirt. He looked at the time, 3:48 PM, he had been in the shower for twenty minutes short of an hour.

"Good morning, belle Amérique." Francis said when Alfred walked into his room.

"Je peux parler français, grenouille." Alfred snapped. Everyone looked at him with surprise, they didn't expect him to answer in a different language.

"Désolé…" Alfred sighed, "I need some coffee."

Alfred walked into the kitchen, turned on the coffee maker, and opened the coffee beans.

'Matt, you are a saint.' Alfred thought, seeing that the dishes were done. Maybe he'll take him to a hockey game after the snow melts.

He made his coffee and walked over to the window. Looking at the snow for a moment and drinking his coffee. His eyes wandered over to the record player. It's been a while before he played some music on it. He missed the rich sounds it would make.

"Hey Kiku, remember when you lived here?" Alfred spoke up. He set his coffee down on the table and started going through his records, "I used to play these al the time."

"The music was beautiful. I liked it." Kiku responded from his position on the orange camping chair.

Alfred took out one of the records and spun it in his hand, "Ozzie Nelson - _The Folks Who Live on the Hill_." He read, "One of my personal favorites."

Alfred put the record in the record player and started the song. The rich sound of brass instruments filled the room, swinging along to the simple piano melody in the background.

The instruments quieted and Ozzie Nelson's voice took over, "_Someday, we'll build our home on a hilltop high, you and I._"

Alfred hummed softly to the tune, swaying along with the beat. A familiar look filled his face. Kiku knew this look all too well. It was usually accompanied with the heartbroken words,  
>'Did you ever go dancing with your war buddies, Kiku?'<p>

But not today. Today, Alfred just swayed there at the window, his hands in his pockets, humming to one of his favorite songs.

Neither Francis or Arthur had seen the young country like this before, Alfred's somber expression was not a normal sight to them. They had always known Alfred to be a loud and animated person, but this was something on a whole new level. Alfred's striking blue eyes were filled with sadness behind his full rim glasses, the kind of sadness someone experienced when they missed someone greatly. The older countries knew this feeling all too well, but they didn't expect to see it on Alfred's face. He looked like a mature young man, someone who had been through a lot, someone who was remembering better times.

Matthew watched his brother as he swayed to the song. The first thing Alfred did when he got back from his tours in foreign countries was go dancing with his friends, but Alfred always preferred slow dancing to songs like these.

And he knew Alfred longed for a slow dance, just one more time.

**Translation:**  
><strong>(( France: Good morning, beautiful America. ))<strong>  
><strong>(( Alfred: I can speak french, frog… Sorry. ))<strong>

**(( This is the longest chapter I have written for this fic! My skype is janer3452 if you want to talk about the story. Hopefully Alfred will get the slow dance he deserves~ ))**


	5. Relapse

**((A big thank you to everyone who reviewed. There is a part in here where the countries are talking in french. Their speech in french is italicized. It is only like this for that chunk of the fic. ))**

Alfred spent the Roaring Twenties as a man of few words but a man whose face was the definition of a party. Dancing back then was simply moving your feet to the beat, which Alfred had more than enough practice doing. Alfred's face would light up when he was dancing with a beautiful lady, or an attractive man. His good looks made it easy for him to dance with anyone, and his happy aura attracted people to him. His old war pals would talk for him, knowing the situation, and even if he didn't talk often, if you got him laughing his laugh would echo throughout the night. People would describe Alfred as the type of guy who was easy to hang out with, who had a personality that shined through the fact he didn't speak often, the type of guy you just felt safe around. Alfred didn't drink during the twenties, but others did, and when people were drunk they sure did sound funny. He was able to stutter out some words when people were drunk, hell, they just thought Alfred was drunk too.

(x)

"I didn't know you liked this type of music, Alfred." Arthur said once the song had ended. Both the European men were surprised, they thought Alfred was into pop music, not swing. Of all things, swing was probably their last guess.

"Alfred loves dancing. This music sure is perfect for that," Matthew paused and locked eyes with his brother, "He especially loves slow dancing."

"M-matt!" Alfred squealed, his face turned bright red at what his brother said.

"I would find Alfred passed out on the couch the next day more times that not." Matthew said, enjoying the fact that he was embarrassing his little brother. He made his way over to the record player.

"This song in particular is a personal favorite of our friend here. Ah, the times you would come home mumbling about the people you danced with." Matthew recollected. He lifted the needle and started the song over. Trumpets started swinging once more to the simple piano melody once more.

"Someday, we'll build our home on a hilltop high, you and I." Ozzie Nelson sung, his voice swinging and taking the place of the trumpets.

"Kiku." Alfred spoke up, looking at his friend, "I never did teach you how to dance, did I?"

Alfred strolled over to where Kiku was sitting. He extended a shaky hand to him and asked, "Do you still want to learn?"

Alfred is such a dork. Kiku loved it.

He accepted the huge, shaky hand. Alfred pulled him close, he had never really thought about the height difference between them, but being so close to the muscular country made him realize he was barely as tall as Alfred's shoulder. Alfred guided Kiku's hands to his waist and placed his own hands on Kiku's shoulder and waist. His huge arms wrapped around him until his hand rested on the small of his partner's back. Alfred guided the small man to the beat of the music. After a while, Alfred took his hand of Kiku's shoulder and gently grabbed Kiku's petite hand, raising it to shoulder level. They slow danced for what seemed like forever to the song. At one point, Kiku leaned into Alfred's chest, which vibrated as he hummed along to the song. This wasn't a formal slow dance anymore, the two countries were hugging. Kiku's face was buried in Alfred's shoulder, and Alfred reset his chin on Kiku's head. Kiku wished he could stay like this forever, wrapped in the country's muscular build. Alfred smelled like summer, like the warm days where there was a nice breeze and the cicadas were chirping. These were some of Kiku's favorite days. He hadn't realized Alfred was crying until he felt Alfred take in a sharp breath. He looked up into the taller county's eyes, the blue eyes Kiku had come to love were filled with pure happiness. He returned to his position in the crook of Alfred's shoulder and hugged a little tighter.

The other countries watched from the couch as Alfred guided Kiku around the room. They watched as the space between the two lessened until they were pressed against each other. They watched as Alfred started crying tears of happiness. It was a sight they had never seen before, at least, a Arthur and Francis had never seen before.

Matt smiled, Alfred finally got his slow dance.

(x)

It was around dinner time, and Francis suggested that he make dinner.

"Let's change it up and have some french cuisine." Francis said, standing up and stretching.

"_Let's make Arthur angry and only speak french._" Alfred told Francis in french. He was seated next to Kiku on the couch, one arm draped over Kiku's shoulder, "_This is going to be so fucking funny, Francis._"

"_Holy shit, yes. This is going to be hilarious._" Matthew said. Alfred whispered the plan in Kiku's ear, translating what they had said.

"You guys are mean." Kiku said. He didn't actually mean it, of course, he wanted to see how Arthur would react to his friends speaking in a language he couldn't understand.

"What? I heard my name. What are you all planning." Arthur said sternly from his position in the camping chair, glaring at Francis.

"_Nothing, my friend, we were simply talking about your god awful cooking._" Francis said, walking to the kitchen. Alfred chuckled and translated what Francis had said into Kiku's ear.  
>Kiku giggled at the face Arthur made, trying to figure out what Francis said.<p>

The three of them got up and walked into the kitchen, "_We're going to make dinner now, black sheep of europe, whose cooking could kill a cow."_ Francis said.

"I know what you said you frog! You called me a fucking black sheep!" Arthur said, standing up in defense, "I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland!" He yelled, as if that would change anything.

"Well, I am the United Stated of America!" Alfred yelled back, punching his chest and flashing a smile, "And I can speak in french if I want to _because you're not in control anymore, black sheep!"_

"OH HO HO!" Francis laughed, doubling over.

"Now you're calling me a black sheep?!"

Kiku's head was tucked into his knees. He was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but his efforts failed when Alfred screamed, "THAT'S RIGHT! VIVA LA REVOLUTION, _BLACK SHEEP!_"

"YOU TIT!" Arthur screamed, leaping onto his former colony.

(x)

Six long days after they were snowed in, the countries were soon able to get to their hotel rooms, pack up their things, and head to the airport. It had been a crazy week, to say the least.

Alfred and Matthew drove them to the airport the morning the planes started flying again. All of them had fun camping out at Alfred's house, but it was time to get back to work.

Kiku was thankful that his neighbors agreed to take care of Pochi for so long. The tan dog greeted him at the door excitedly. He was glad he was home, though, the memory of slow dancing with Alfred was still fresh in his mind, and he missed it already. He missed him already.

Francis and Arthur returned to their houses late at night. They lived alone, but they had to admit, sharing a living space with their friends was nice.

"Hey Matt, thanks for shovelling the front of the house." Alfred said. The snow had slowly started to melt, leaving Alfred with a cold. He was thankful the snow didn't melt quickly like it usually did. All it took was one warm day to make his cold go from bad to worse, but so far the temperature had been just above freezing, so he didn't need to worry. They had just finished saying goodbye to their friends, so Alfred was now driving them home.

"I am happy to do it." Matt responded, turning on the radio. It had been a few weeks since Christmas music had stopped playing, which Matt was thankful for, Christmas music was annoying as hell.

"I want to make it up to you, though, since you are always doing it." Alfred explained. He insisted he drive them. Matthew didn't argue, mostly because it was foggy today and Matthew didn't know these roads well, "How about we go to a hockey game sometime soon?"

"Sounds great."

The airport was an hour away from Alfred's house, but with the weather conditions and traffic it took two hours to get there and even longer to get back. Alfred and Matthew exchanged simple conversation, but most of the ride was filled with popular songs through the radio.

Alfred was an amazing driver, he had done everything right.

There shouldn't have been an accident.

There shouldn't have.

Some guy had fallen asleep at the wheel of his minivan.

"Shit!" Alfred cursed, pulling the steering wheel to the side. He was able to stop a head on collision, but the two cars collided at the driver's side.

The only thing Matthew remembered after the collision was waking up and seeing Alfred next to him, unconscious in his seat. He was bleeding heavily from various places all over his body, blood covering most of his brother's face, but he was breathing, and that was the important part. It took a while for the paramedics to arrive at the scene. During that time, Matthew driften in and out of consciousness until the medics and firemen started sawing away at the doors of their car. It hurt Matt to breathe there was a good chance he had some broken ribs. Their rescuers were able to pull them out of the car, but Matt lost consciousness as an oxygen mask was slipped over his head.

Matt woke up once again during the ambulance ride to the hospital. He looked over at Alfred, whose head was firmly positioned in two cushions and heavily bandaged.

"Al.." Matthew groaned, trying to sit up, but a firm hand pushed him back down.

"Your brother's going to be okay buddy, just go back to sleep." A deep voice said.

He woke up for good in a hospital bed, covered in bandages. Though everything hurt, he managed to sit up. He needed to find Al. Grunting, he managed to sit on the side of his bed, ready to stand. He gripped his fluids pole tightly and stood up. Pain shot all through his body. He had he had broken his collarbone, which left his right arm useless as it sat neatly in a sling. He assumed he had also broken a several ribs. He had fractured one once before in a hockey accident, but this time he couldn't seem to take a good breath. The whole room spun, he probably had a concussion as well, and strange medication didn't help his cause. He carefully walked to the door, being careful not to slip. A nurse walked into the room before he was able to reach the door, and he was suddenly being guided back to his bed.

"Al…" Matthew croaked, his throat dry.

"Your brother is in the ICU, , you will be able to see him when you have rested." The nurse told him. Matthew stopped in his tracks. He needed to see Alfred.

"I am awake." He said sternly, "Take me to my brother."

"Like I said, when you have rested, ."

Matthew straightened his back, winding at the pain, and looked into the petite nurse's eyes, "At least get me his doctor, I need to know how he is doing."

"Fine."

Matthew ended up sleeping the rest of the day without speaking to the doctor.

(x)

Matt groggily woke up the next morning to find that his phone was on his bedside table. He picked it up and inspected it, the screen was cracked, but other than that it worked like nothing had ever happened. He sent a quick text to Arthur, saying that he needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

" ?" A man said, entering the room. He was a tall man with grey hair. Matthew assumed this was Alfred's doctor.

"How is my brother? When can I see him?"

The doctor explained to Matthew that Alfred had injured his head in the collision, which they were closely monitoring because of his past injury. They couldn't measure the damage until Alfred had woken up, though. Aside from his head injury, the left side of Alfred's body had taken the most damage. His arm had broken in several places, and he had also broken some of his ribs, unfortunately puncturing his lung.

"The good news is, he is stable." Alfred's doctor said, "And, you are permitted to visit him."

Matthew thanked Alfred's doctor as he left the room. He had also told Matthews injuries to him. A broken collarbone, two fractured ribs, and a concussion. The doctor had told Matt to watch out for dizzy spells, which were possible because of the extent of his injury. Other than that, Matt was to be discharged later that day.

Matthew tried to eat several times that day, but nothing seemed to stay down. He also noticed he was sleeping a lot more than usual, both side effects of the concussion. After his fourth nap that day, he decided to see his brother. It was a familiar feeling, walking through the hospital to visit his brother who had sustained a brain injury, only this time he was a patient as well. Matthew groggily entered Alfred's room. Alfred had various IV's in his arm, and a breathing tube in his nose. His left arm was wrapped in a cast and where multiple cuts and bruises all over his face and chest. Matt pulled up a chair and sat next to his brother. He held his hand and rubbed it, like he did all those years ago. Alfred's hands trembled slightly, even in his sleep. Matt felt the grip on his hand tighten, he looked up to see his brother's blue eyes filled with tears.

"Al…" Matthew croaked, running his hand through Alfred's hair and wiping the tears from his brother's eyes.

Alfred tried to say something, but just like all those years ago, only a huff came out.

**(( Happy Holidays everybody ))**


	6. Struggles and Nightmares

**((Lots of gore again folks. More than last time. Also a really long chapter for you guys because I have been adding to this without checking the word count for the past week.)) **

Alfred was too high on medication to process why Matthew was crying, where he was, or why he himself was crying for all that matter. At some point during Matthew's visit he fell asleep on Alfred's arm. He drifted to sleep as well not long after that.

Matt woke up later with a handful of text messages from Arthur and one missed call.

'_Why do you need to talk?'_

'_Is it urgent?'_

'_Did something happen?' _

- Arthur Kirkland

Matthew walked out of the room and called Arthur. He was still slightly disoriented from his last nap, so he leaned lightly on the wall for support.

"Mathew thank god you called, is everything alright?" Arthur asked quickly. Matthew could tell the older man had been worrying.

"No, uh, Arthur. We were in a car accident." Matthew paused as the whole room spun. A dizzy spell was the least of his worries. He leaned harder on the wall and hoped he wouldn't fall over, "I am fine, for the most part but Al…"

"Shit… I am catching the next plane over to America." Arthur said, hanging up the phone.

(x)

Matthew checked out of the hospital that night and decided to stay at Alfred's house. Not that he had many places to stay. He went home by taxi, nearly falling asleep in the car. Exhausted, he ended up going to bed, even though it was only 6:00 PM.

He woke up to the sound of someone ringing the doorbell, he checked the time, 2:00 PM.

Matthew had slept for twenty-one hours. That couldn't have been good. His arm was stiff from sleeping in his sling, despite that, he wobbly got up and staggered to the door. He swayed heavily as the door opened, and decided to lean on the backwall. He drifted back to sleep as the door opened.

"Matthew? Holy hell! You look awful!" Arthur said in shock. Matthew felt someone guiding him over to the living room and sitting him down on the couch. He leaned his head back and drifted further asleep.

Arthur had checked into a hotel room and made his way to Alfred's house. Matthew had texted him saying that would be where Arthur could find him when he arrived in America. He didn't expect Matthew to look so beat up. He had little cuts all over his face. His right shoulder and neck were badly bruised and his right arm was in a sling, but the thing that worried Arthur the most was Matthew's shallow breathing. He guided the young man to the couch, where he fell asleep. Arthur sighed and went into the kitchen to make them some coffee. If Matthew thought this wasn't bad then he wondered what condition Alfred was in. Once the coffee was done Arthur filled two mugs and carried it to them to the living room. He set his down and carefully nudged a mug in Matthew's hand.

Matthew woke up and took in a sharp breath, which he regretted. Pain filled his chest as he hurriedly put the mug on the coffee table and endured a long, painful coughing fit.

Matthew gasped for air and leaned forward, putting his hand on his chest.

"Do you need anything, lad?" Arthur said with a worried tone in his voice. He started to gently pat Matthew's back, trying to help.

"No, I'm fine. It just… hurts. Give it a second." Matthew grunted.

Once Matthew felt better he took a sip of the coffee. He thanked Arthur and explained what had happened. He told him about Alfred's head injury, broken arm, and fractured ribs. He told Arthur about his own injuries. A concussion, broken collarbone, and fractured ribs as well.

"I was planning on going to the hospital today, but I ended up sleeping." Matthew said drowsily. He knew he couldn't help how tired and sleepy he was, but he was upset to say the least.

"Don't feel bad, you can't help that you got injured too." Arthur assured him, "I rented a car, so I can drive you over to the hospital whenever you're ready."

(x)

Athru and Matthew ended up going the the hospital later that day. The doctor told Arthur that Alfred had again injured his head rather severely, and to not expect much talking. What Arthur wasn't prepared for, was the distant look in his brother's eyes. His blue eyes no longer shone with light, but were filled with sadness. His breathing was much worse than Matthews, the doctors told them they were going to wait and see if the punctured lung would heal itself, but it was obvious that wasn't going to be the case. Alfred wheezed when he breathed, and he even flinched when he took a particularly deep breath. They had changed from nose nibs to an over the nose mask, to give him the oxygen he needed. Even then, Alfred was pale. Matthew walked over and gripped Alfred's hand. Alfred tried to return the grip, but the cast that went up his arm prevented him from closing his fist all the way. Alfred drifted to sleep several times, only to have a coughing fit wake him up. After that happened a few times, he decided to abandon the idea of sleeping and instead sit up. He coughed roughly as he sat up, pushing Matthew's helping hand away from him.

"Peh…" Alfred wheezed, he stopped and focused on breathing for a few seconds before he shivered and took Matthew's hand, shakily spelling out 'pen' with his finger. His shakiness had gotten worse since the car accident, and it was practically as bad as the day he woke up from his coma.

"Right." Matthew confirmed, "I'll be back with one, sit tight, Al."

"What did he say?" Arthur asked.

"He wants a note pad and paper." Matthew told Arthur. Alfred's expression turned dark and shameful at the reality he needed a pad and paper to communicate. He wasn't even sure he was going to be able to write anything down anyways. Matthew looked at his brother worriedly and left the room, leaving Arthur and Alfred alone with each other. It was awkward to say the least. Arthur didn't know what to do, it's not like he had much practice visiting people in the hospital. He walked from the end of Alfred's bed to up near the front, to be closer to Al, who was staring blankly at his shaking hands. He started to lazily rub his knuckles. His eyelids slowly started to close and his breaths became long and slow. Arthur assumed his former colony had drifted to sleep, but when he went to guide Alfred in a laying down position, the young country shooed away his hands. He coughed and shook his head, trying to get the point across that he was not sleeping. Alfred tapped Arthur's hand and held it between his own. He carefully flipped it over and began to slowly write on Arthur's palm.

'_p a i n.' _Alfred wrote in all lowercase. His letters were slow and shaky, Arthur almost didn't understand what he had meant.

"What hurts, Alfred?" Arthur asked, assuming that is was what Alfred was trying to say.

Alfred took a chopy breathe through his mouth and lightly tapped his chest. Arthur was going to need to talk to Alfred's doctor. There was no way his lung was going to fix itself.

When Matthew got back Arthur left to hunt down the doctor.

Alfred tried several times to pick up the pen, but he was unable to get a firm grip on it. His shakiness only made matters worse. Defeated, he used the excuse of a coughing fit to hand back the pad and pen.

(x)

Alfred went into surgery the next morning. It went well, and Alfred was sleeping peacefully in his room. They were able to remove the chip of bone that caused the wound, which was good, and he was expected to make a rather full recovery over a long period of time, being that he was immortal. Matthew was asleep beside his brother, his good arm loosely propping up his head. Alfred was no longer being kept in the ICU, and was scheduled to discharge later that day.

Arthur drove Matthew and Alfred home. Both of them fell asleep in the car, and went immediately to bed when they got home. Arthur told them he would come around dinner time. Alfred patted Arthur's back in confirmation before disappearing into his room, and Matthew mumbled words of gratitude before doing the same.

(x)

The next world meeting was a week away, and Alfred had made barely any progress. The meeting was going to be held in England, so at least the people would be speaking english. Arthur had gone back to England after Matthew's concussion symptoms calmed down. Matthew had to go back to his own home, but would visit Alfred every chance he got. Alfred would spend his days either at speech or physical therapy. He wasn't taking care of himself, though. He would barely eat, and would go to bed as soon as he got home. He no longer found anything interesting, and he wasn't motivated to do anything. It was a struggle to get out of bed in the morning, even though he knew it shouldn't be. Despite his feelings, he would go to therapy because he knew it was the right thing to do.

He was able to pick up things, rarely dropping them, but his handwriting kills were in the gutter. He could barely hold a pen, let alone take notes.

Two days until the meeting and he slept all day.

One day before the meeting Matthew came over to help pack and found Alfred sitting in the corner of his room with his knees tightly drawn against his chest and his unbroken right hand covered in blood.

Alfred was frustrated at the world. He paced around the room wondering why it had to be him. Why he was the one who had to live with the fucked up brain. The other countries were going to talk down to him. They were going to get annoyed at the fact that he couldn't speak. They were going to ask why his brother and him were wearing casts and slings on their arms. He was going to have to answer like a toddler just learning how to speak. Alfred got himself more and more worked up, and he eventually started crying and shaking uncontrollably. Yelling, he punched the wall, which gave out, and left a circular hole. He looked down at this right hand. His knuckles were split, and blood ran down his arm.

Matthew opened the door to Alfred's apartment. Last time he had visited, Alfred was sleeping. He assumed this was the case and went into Alfred's room. He saw that the bed was empty, so he scanned the room and eyes fell on a trembling lump balled up in the corner. Muffled sounds of sobbing could be heard from it. Matthew turned on a light. Blood stained Alfred's arm and clothing, his bloodied right hand was entangled in his hair. Matthew rushed over to his brother and kneeled down beside him, rubbing his back and trying to calm him down. After a while, he sat next to Alfred on the floor and wrapped his good arm around his brother's broad shoulders.

After Alfred had calmed down, Matthew leaded Alfred to the bathroom. His left shoulder moved uncomfortably in his sling as he wetted a towel. Using his undamaged arm and hand, he cleaned Alfred's knuckles. It was hard dressing the wound with one hand, and the fact that Alfred's shakiness was worse made it even harder. He took a step back to look at this brother. His left arm was immobilized by a cast that went past his elbow, which made his it bend at a 90 degree angle and rest across his chest. His right hand was wrapped in bandages, blood starting to seep through the cloth. Matthew made a mental note to pack medical supplies for the trip. Alfred had lost a considerable amount of weight. His skin was pale and he had circles under his empty eyes. Alfred looked sick. He looked really sick. Matthew had told Alfred to take a shower and left to go make some food for his brother.

Alfred got undressed at looked at himself in the mirror. A thick, gnarly scar ran along his ribs. He remembered the pain of receiving this wound in 1941. He remembered the pain he had returned to his attacker a few years later. He hated war. Though it was good for the economy, the physical and mental wounds made to the countries would almost never heal. His lifted his arms and looked at his stomach in disgust, he could start to see his ribs. He looked at the small faded scabs that had yet to heal completely from the car collision. A faded purple bruise went across his chest from the seat belt. His left arm was in a black cast that stopped past his elbow, and his right hand was heavily bandaged. he worried about how he was going to write notes during the meeting. He could already see his colleagues stealing glances at him when they had the chance. He took a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes. They were faded blue and had circles around them. He looked ill, to say the least.

Matthew had made a sandwich and coffee for Alfred. The water had turned on not to long ago, so he put the food in the fridge and kept the coffee in the kettle to keep it warm. He wondered if he should make Alfred stay home, and decided to text Arthur for advice.

'_Arthur, I am wondering if I should make Alfred stay home, I don't think he is mentally prepared for a meeting.' -_ Matthew Williams

A few minutes later, Arthur responded.

'_I worry for Alfred as a person, but being a country means attending meetings even if you don't feel up to it. We need to think about the greater good of the world. We can't have a superpower not show up to a world meeting.' _

Matthew sighed, he was right. Though he felt Arthur misinterpreted the message a bit, it was best that Alfred go to the meeting when considering the effect it would have if he didn't show up.

Alfred came out of his room a few minutes after that. He was wearing an old sports tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The clothes hung loosely on his frame and threatened to fall down at any given moment. A little bit of color had returned to his face, but he was still unnaturally pale.

Alfred was emotionally exhausted. The only thing he wanted to do was go back into his room and sleep, but he knew Matthew wasn't going to allow it while he was there. Matthew sat on the couch and drank coffee with him. Alfred ate half of his sandwich and drank all of his coffee. He hadn't been keeping up with his medicine schedule recently, so he was a bit queasy. It's not like he had much of an appetite anyways recently, food just didn't have a taste anymore. Matthew made sure Alfred ate all of his food, though. Once Alfred was done with his meal they packed for the trip. Usually one of them stayed the night before are they drove together to the airport, but since the accident none of them could drive. Matthew had taken a cab over to Alfred's house, and that was the means of transportation for getting to the airport tomorrow morning.

(x)

Beside Matthew having motion sickness on the plane, everything went well. Matthew talked for Alfred, but the metal detector went off when Alfred walked through it, resulting in a rather painful but necessary pat-down.

When they landed they decided to get a bite to eat. Sitting on the plane for six hours had made Matthew famished, but Alfred had no hunger pains whatsoever. He was just glad they were on the ground and out of a crowded space. During the flight he had gotten nervous and cracked his knuckles, which made them start bleeding. He was able to hide it from Matthew for the majority of the ride, but he caught his brother stealing worried glances.

Matthew was enjoying a salad and Alfred was poking at some mac and cheese when they heard a familiar voice yell at them.

"Twin Americas! What happened?!" It was Feliciano. He was running toward them with a worried look on his face, Ludwig following closely behind him. Matthew believed Ludwig was genuinely worried for them, judging by the seriously concerned look on his face, but Feliciano seemed more curious about the details.

"I'm not America, Feliciano, I am Canada." Matthew corrected him.

"Matthew, are you two okay? I worry for your ability to work, it looks like you two were in a war." Ludwig asked.

"We're fine. We were in a car wreck three weeks ago, but we can work for the most part." Matthew explained. He finished up his salad and stood up, Alfred doing the same. Matthew noticed Alfred had not eaten any of his food. Ludwig looked where Matthew was staring, his concerned look only getting worse. Alfred did not look well at all, his hands had a familiar tremble to them, but it had obviously gotten worse. Ludwig noticed that blood had seeped through bandage around Alfred's knuckles, which told him it was a more recent injury. Alfred was racked with anxiety, his face had gotten paler since the conversation had started, and he was now cracking his fingers. Alfred's behavior was so obscure from what both Feliciano and Ludwig were used to, even Feliciano, who can't read the atmosphere to save his life, took notice.

"Hey, Alfred, are you feeling okay?" Feliciano. There was legitimate worry on his face now as he looked at Alfred's body.

"U-uhh… h-uh." Alfred mumbled. His voice perked up at the end, making it clear he was trying to say yes. Mumbling wasn't Alfred's usual way of talking, there was definitely something wrong. Ludwig decided to talk with Matthew in private when he had the chance.

Ludwig and Feliciano bid their goodbyes and walked away. Alfred let out a breath of relief, he was glad they hadn't brought up anything else on the matter, he knew Ludwig was suspicious of the condition of their health.

When Alfred and Matthew checked into their hotel, they slept a good amount of the day, simply because jetlag is a bitch.

Matthew woke up around dinner time and saw that Alfred was still fast asleep. Matthew decided to text Francis and ask him if they wanted to talk over dinner.

'_Alfred is asleep. Want to grab a bite?' - _Matthew Williams

As always, Francis responded almost immediately.

'_I don't know the country very well, my friend, so the Black Sheep of Europe is going to be joining us. We're in the lobby.' _- Francis Bonnefoy

Matthew confirmed that he had read the text and grabbed his wallet.

(x)

"What happened to your arm, Canada?" Ivan asked. Of all the people Matthew got stuck in the elevator with, he had to get stuck with the most intimidating person he could think of.

"Car collision." Matthew explained. He stretched his shoulder nervously, causing it to make a painful cracking sound.

"That must have been painful." said Ivan. There was a look of faint concern on his face.

Matthew was happy when the elevator door opened. He bid his farewell and walked out into the lobby, where he saw Francis and Arthur having a rather are calm conversation with one another. It occurred to him Francis didn't know Alfred and him had gotten in a car wreck.

"Matthew!" Francis exclaimed. He stood up and looked at his friend. It took him a second to register that Matthew was wearing a sling, "What happened to your arm?"

Matthew sighed, "Me and Alfred got in a car wreck. It broke my collar bone."

A frantic look of worry washed over Francis's face. He turned around to look at Arthur, "Why are you acting like you knew?" His voice above the normal tone.

"Cuz I did you git, quit your yelling." Arthur retorted.

Francis shot a glare toward Arthur.

"I can tell you the details at dinner." Matthew suggested hoping to change the subject.

They decided to eat at a local pizzeria that was close enough to the hotel that they could walk. Francis kept trying to change the subject back on the accident, and eventually Matthew cracked and began to tell him. He explained how they were driving back from the airport and some guy fell asleep at the wheel. He mentioned how the guy didn't make it and Alfred wasn't doing so well. Matthew left the details of Alfred's brain injury ambiguous to respect his privacy, but that didn't stop Francis from asking.

"He's just having a hard time right now. I am worried for him, Francis, I really am. He's getting thin though, he isn't taking care of himself. The way I found him the day..." Matthew vented his worries to his older brother. He hadn't realized he said too much until Arthur spoke up.

"What happened to Alfred?" Arthur said in worry. Arthur tended to worry about Alfred often, so not telling him would result in stress on his end. Matthew sighed and cursed his habit of over sharing.

"It's just… I went to his house to help him pack and there was a whole in his bedroom wall. He was having some sort of breakdown, it was unnerving seeing him like that." Matthew explained. He rambled on about how he was worried about his brother. Honestly, he didn't know what to do.

Francis and Arthur had never seen Matthew this stressed. His shoulder shifted uncomfortably in his sling and he was fidgeting with his hands. They were able to calm him down by changing the topic, but seeing Matthew so worried about Alfred's condition made they themselves worry about Alfred's health.

(x)

It was the same dreams over and over again. It was seeing his war friend's bloody corpses on the battle field. It was trying to desperately get their hearts beating again, blinking tears out of his eyes and repeatedly yelling their name as he pressed down on their chests. It was the overwhelming amount of funerals and the fading grip of his best friend as the light left their eyes. The one where entrails are everywhere and the nation is watching as it's you versus a little boy holding a hand grenade. Where he watches as his buddy's brains are blown out by a little girl because he couldn't bring himself to harm a child, not when he had a son of his own waiting for him at home. Alfred could barely handle these nightmares when he was at his own house, and they had gotten worse since the accident. It was a whole different tale when he was in a different country, away from the safety of his house.

Alfred ran through the hastily built trenches, carrying body after body. Some dead, some dying, some had no hope of living, but Alfred had to try. Rain pounded on his back, but oddly enough, he didn't get wet. He discarded why that was and focused on saving a soldier from being buried under a crate of supplies. This soldier in particular was the kind of boy that snuck in and became a soldier before he was eighteen. The lad must have been at least 16, he was lanky with auburn hair and dark brown eyes. Honestly, he looked a lot like Feliciano. He must've had italian roots, there were a lot of people that looked like the happy go lucky country in America. Alfred gave him a concerned look and sent him on his way. Bombs went off overhead. Alfred picked up a gun and peaked over the wall. It was useless, he couldn't see anything with the rain. He picked up a hand grenade and threw it over the wall and to their opponent's territory. This is was pure chaos, he ran back and forth through the trenches. During a period of silence, Alfred saw the young boy from earlier, he was crying and writing a note in his journal. Alfred gave him a pat on the back and went to go help the medics. Minutes later, there was a gunshot from inside the trench. He hurried to find the source, only to find that the lanky boy had shot himself. Alfred threw up at the sight of the boy's shot out head and collapsed on the ground of him. He shakily grabbed the boy's dog tag and read it, burning it's engraving into his mind.

JOE ROBINSON.

Alfred doubted that was his real name.

At one point during the battle Alfred ended up leaning on the wall of the trench. He was immobilized with fear, looking directly at the corpse in front of him. The poor man's eyes bulged out of his head. Blood was splattered all over him, and his spine was sticking through his stomach. He felt his shoulder being shaken, someone was talking to him. Their voice slowly drowned out the bombs and the scene changed. He wasn't in the trenches anymore. He wasn't covered in mud and there were no more corpses. It was just… Dark. He was guided into another room and sat down. The scene shifted from the tranches, to the swamp, to his house, to the hospital. He became overwhelmingly nauseous and vomited into a trash can that someone had handed him. What was happening?

"Alfred." The voice said. It was deep and serious. His shoulders were being lightly shaken.

The room finally stopped spinning and Alfred realized he was in a hotel room. Light filled the room and he tried his best to focus on the two figures in front of him, but it was nearly impossible to tell who it was without his glasses. He was wildy disoriented and confused about what had just happened. He was almost certain he was still in the trenches, but the atmosphere told him otherwise.

The thunderstorm going on outside had woken Ludwig up. He was already a light sleeper, so trying to go back to bed was not going to happen anytime soon. When he heard motion in the hallway, he went to go investigate. He had expected it to be another guests, just getting into their room, but was surprised to see it was Alfred. He no longer filled his clothes nicely like he used to, his body was pale and thin with malnourishment. He was shirtless, his ribs were visible, and his pajama pants hung loosely on his hips. He watched as Alfred staggered around the hallway, mumbling something incomprehensible. He started to approach the man, he noticed Alfred's breathing was ragged and filled with anxiety and panic. His eyes were glazed over and filled with fear. Ludwig came to the conclusion Alfred was sleepwalking. Alfred was now leaning on the wall of the hallway, his hand shakily covering his ears as tears flowed rapidly out of his eyes. Ludwig guided the young country to his room and sat him down on a bed. The commotion woke Feliciano up, who usually shared a room with Ludwig.

"Ludwig…" Feliciano mumbled nervously, looking at Alfred, the ill country looked as if he was going to throw up again any second now. His face was riddled with sweat and tears, and he had opened several small cuts on his chest. He was trembling uncontrollably, his cast made his arm bend at a 90 degree angle, but Feliciano focused on the fact that Alfred's fingers trembled as if electricity was running through them. They watched as Alfred looked around the room, his eyes glazed over and distant. He drowsily looked at the two men in front of him, tears started flowing once again as his breathing became rapid. He stood up and paced the room, his hands were trembling and raised as if prepared to grab something. Ludwig carefully grabbed the fragile country and repeatedly said his name softly, shaking him every time. Alfred's eyes were wide with fear, his face was unhealthily pale. He looked as if he was on death's doorstep. Alfred drifted to sleep where he stood. It was obvious to both Ludwig and Feliciano that Alfred was emotionally exhausted. They decided to forget about hunting down his room and let him sleep in Ludwig's bed.

They had never seen the formerly happy country this broken. What had happened in a month's time?

**(( I decided to end it here. I was planning on going into the next morning but like the evil person I am, I am going to make you all wait. Oh god, what will Matt think when he wakes up and finds his brother is missing?)) **


	7. World Meeting

**((Big tw - for suicide and depression.)) **

Matthew paced the hallway of the hotel, he was shirtless and wearing black pajama bottoms. He had yet to fix the twisted strap of his sling, which he had to wear even while he was asleep. The twisted strap was the least of his concern, though. He woke up and Al was missing. He didn't even know where to start, or who to call.

"Canada!" A cheerful voice yelled. He turned around and saw the voice belonged to Feliciano. He was already prepared for the day, dressed in a blue pinstripe suit and a red tie. Ludwig stood behind him, dressed in a dark brown suit and a blue tie. Matthew quickly approached the two men, beginning his sentence before they were in earshot.

'"Have you seen Al? He wasn't in the room this morning."

Ludwig processed the sentence, judging by the fact both Alfred and Matthew were together at the airport, he assumed that was who the anxiety-stricken young country was talking about.

"Ah yes, well, Alfred was sleepwalking last night. He is asleep in our room." Ludwig explained what had happened the previous night, saying he was worried for Alfred and wanted to talk to Matthew about the state of the formerly happy country's mental health.

Matthew let out a sigh of relief and asked his colleagues if they could talk over breakfast.

(x)

Matthew explained from the beginning what had happened to Alfred, starting at Alfred's first injury. It was a lengthy conversation with mostly Matthew talking.

"He only sleepwalks when he's sick… He's gotten so much worse. I just don't know what to do." Matthew said, rubbing his nose, "Whether or not he goes to the meeting depends on how emotionally exhausted he is. I don't want to push him though."

Matthew was riddled with stress. He hated seeing his brother like this, and he hated more not being able to do anything.

"We should ask him when he wakes up. It is up to him whether he goes or not."

(x)

Alfred woke up dreading his existence. This was nothing usual, but the thing that was was the fact he wasn't in his room. He groggily stood up and left the room. He didn't care how he got there, he just wanted to go home. Walking through the hallway, he tried his best to scratch underneath the cast. It was a bothersome thing, he couldn't wait to get it off his arm.

Kiku saw Alfred disappear into his room half asleep. He had lost a shocking amount of weight, and to top it off his arm was in a cast. Kiku worried for Alfred and at the same time was curious to find out what happened. He'd be sure to talk to Alfred about it later, he had made plans for them to go out and spend the night together anyways. It was the new year afterall, and Kiku had something special in mind.

(x)

Kiku began to worry for Alfred once the meeting started. He was definitely not his usual self. He didn't smile or talk out of place, he just sat there and looked at the mostly blank papers in front of him. His dark suit swam on his body, being that it was now several sizes too big. Kiku became restless as he noticed Alfred's right hand was covered in bandages and his shaking was worse. Something was seriously wrong. Matthew talked for him, and some of the other countries acted as if they knew what was going on, save for Ivan, who had tried talking to Alfred. He abandoned the idea when he saw how pale Alfred's face was.

After the meeting Kiku ran up to Matthew, who was entering the elevator with Alfred.

"Matthew! Can we talk for a second?"

"Sure. Go on up Al, I'll be up after this." MAtthew said to his brother. Alfred nooded and closed the elevator door.

"Is Alfred okay?" asked Kiku, "Are you okay?"

(x)

Alfred entered the small hotel room and locked the door. He hated it. He hated everything. He paced the room, anxiety and panic building up until he burst out in tears. He couldn't even bring himself to make a sound. He had a plethora of words swimming frantically in his mind that had no way to escape. No one would be able to understand him for a long time, and he hated that. The meeting was a wreck, he could see the other countries looking at him with pity. All the questions had to be answered by his brother, who was quiet enough as it is. Ivan had tried talking to him, and Alfred had tried to muster up a sound to respond to the russian man, but nothing came out. Tears flowed uncontrollably down his face. He sat on his bed, curled up, and cried. He was a mess and he knew it. Why couldn't these feelings just buzz off and come back another day? Eventually, he changed into casual clothes, putting on his bomber jacket. There were a lot of memories in this jacket, both good and bad. Honestly, he didn't know why he even still had the thing, it would better for him to just lock it away and forget about it, but he always ended up wearing it. Sometimes it reminded him of the dances he had with his friends, other times it reminded him of failed battles and lost lives. This time it was a confusing mixture of both. Not knowing what to do, he grabbed his earbuds and rushed out the door. He needed to just get away from everything. He just needed to not exist.

The world was in black and white as he walked the unknown streets. With this head down he barreled through the crowd, his music bringing next to no comfort. He ultimately came to a bridge. He looked down at the dark water below him. It was a long fall, but he knew he wouldn't do it. He didn't have it in him. Besides, countries can't die, they are stuck being immortal. Countries have to watch as their friends grow old while they stay the same age, looking no older than the day their friends met them. Images of his friends flashed in his mind, starting off with their smile and quickly changing to their funerals. Their emotionless faces, their cold bodies. Blood covering some while medical masks covered others. Alfred couldn't take it, he wanted to scream so badly, but the sound wouldn't come out no matter how hard he tried. He burst into a sprint, he needed the memories to go away.

He knew that his friends would be sad if he died, he knew all too well the pain of a friend committing suicide. Images of his former friends flashed in his mind. The gun shots, the funerals, the condolences, the hatred. No matter how fast he ran the images just wouldn't go away.

(x)

Matthew, Kiku, Arthur, and Francis had split up and looked for the lost country. They would try to call Alfred every handful of minutes, but again and again it was brought straight to the answering machine.

_Hey! I am not able to answer your call at the moment, so please leave a message. Be sure to include your name and number! Thanks!_

The messages was beginning to sound unnatural and forced. The longer they searched the longer the cheery tone of Alfred's voice sent chills up their spine. Kik walked through the streets, looking frantically for his friend. He was starting to worry, the sun was already beginning to set. He ended up in a plaza. Shops circled around a fountain, christmas lights were still hanging on trees, and people were starting to come out to celebrate the new year. Before Kiku realized what was happening, the streets were filled with people. After stumbling around in the crowd for some time, Kiku found himself in a harbor. Lights reflected beautifully off the water, making it look like a second sky. He walked the docks, looking for Alfred, and after several hours of searching the city, he spotted Alfred's bomber jacket. Relief filled his chest as he sent out a quick text saying that he had found the young country.

Alfred was sitting at the end of the dock, his knees drawn up to his chest. Kiku noticed Alfred had earbuds in and was listening to music. Alfred held the phone tightly in his hand, like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. He drew in a sharp, broken breath as Kiku sat next to him and rubbed his shoulder.

After a while Alfred stood up and looked down at Kiku. The second sky reflected off of his beautiful deep brown eyes, he was so unbelievably beautiful. He loved Kiku, he really did. Alfred offered Kiku his right hand. Kiku took it, and painfully, Alfred lifted the short man to his feet. He took out one of his earbuds and gave it to Kiku. Once both of them had an earbud in, Alfred started the all familiar song and started to dance with his partner. Kiku listened to the familiar sound of trumpets swinging along to the simple piano melody as he leaned closer and closer into Alfred's chest. Eventually, Alfred removed the broken arm that was putting a boundary between them, and placed it on Kiku's back. The hard cast felt somewhat uncomfortable, but Kiku didn't mind, as long as he got to dance with his friend. Kiku could wrap both his arms around Alfred, and he could feel the tall man's ribs. It was unsettling. He thought of a way to help Alfred, though he drew a blank. The moment was to precious to soil with worry.

"Someday, we'll build our home on a hilltop high, you and I." Ozzie Nelson sung, his voice swinging and taking the place of the trumpets.

They listened to the song, wrapped in each other's arms, exactly like they were just a few weeks ago. Alfred rested his head atop of Kiku's. He was both emotionally and physically exhausted, drifting asleep where he stood. Kiku's hair smelled sweet, like honey, but without the stickiness. Kiku noticed that Alfred's swinging to the song became slow, and that he was leaning more and more on Kiku. They had danced for a long time, different songs from the 30s playing only for seconds. At least, that's what it felt like. People wandered onto the docs, and it soon became nearly as crowded as the plaza. Kiku noticed Alfred tense up at the amount out people, so he reached into Alfred's pocket and turned up the music ever so slightly. Kiku noticed his head was beginning to get damp. He wondered if Alfred was crying tears of happiness, like when they had danced before, or pain.

It was an odd mixture of both.

Alfred swayed to the music. It didn't sounds like anything to him, just white noize. He didn't feel the usual overwhelming happiness when dancing, no, this time it was painful. He was sad, and he knew perfectly well that this wasn't something he could brush off anymore. He got nervous as the night dragged on and people spread out into the harbor. He could hear people counting down in the distance, another year behind him. A year that went so well up until an accident that had sent his health recoiling back and hitting him hard.

'My new years resolution is to see next year.' he thought, but of course he would see next year. He was immortal after all.

_Boom_.

The scene changed and all the of sudden he was in a boat. The hatch to the boat had opened and men were running to their deaths. Alfred ran into the water, swimming desperately to shore. He had to get to shore, he had to. He felt the corpses underneath his feet, the ones who had drowned, who had been shot as soon as the doors had opened. His gear weighed him down, but he was strong. He grabbed a fellow soldier and helped him swim to shore. Alfred used all of his strength to pull both him and the soldier to shore. Bullets whizzed passed them, killing those around them. The water was red with blood and corpses floated in the water around them. Some sank to the bottom of the water, weighed down by their gear. Alfred thought about the quantity of condolence letters that would be going through the system after this. He hid behind an iron beam in the sand, put there to keep the boats from beaching. This was an uphill battle in which they were losing. Alfred looked down at the soldier he had help carry to shore. A whole. Right between his green bloodshot eyes. Alfred cursed and blinked away tears. The amount of corpses on the battlefield before him was overwhelming. He saw one of the italian looking boys, missing an arm, stumbling around the battlefield like a zombie. Alfred vomited at the sight of the boy, who had found his arm and picked it up. A soldier went up to knock some sense into him. It was too late. Flames engulfed them as a bomb went off. Alfred picked up a gun and peaked over the top of the iron beams. Grenades went off all around him, their loud booms ringing in his ears. He could feel himself getting burned from the heat of the flames, but he couldn't afford to move. He couldn't see anything through the smoke. He looked across the battlefield and saw one of his friends, Tom. Tom Miller had orange hair and pale skin that would shine brighter than bleach on a sunny day. He was covered head to toe in freckles, but Alfred only saw a man covered head to toe in blood. The thick liquid stained his hands and clothes as he worked vigorously to patch up one of the injured soldiers. The gash on his friend's arm told Alfred that not all the blood was from the wounded soldier Tom was trying so hard to patch up.

_Boom._

The sounds of the bombs were drowned out by music. Alfred became confused, and the world before him slowed down. The scene warped until he was looking at the man on top of him. Kiku. Colored light danced in his concerned eyes. Alfred quickly sat up and looked around. He needed to know where Tom was. People surrounded him and Kiku, their muffled voices filled with concern and worry. Kiku was talking on the phone with someone…

Alfred's hands began to shake uncontrollably as panic and anxiety filled his body. There were so many people. What happened to all the corpses? What had happened to Tom? He needed to find Tom. He needed to find out where he was. Alfred stood up and blinked tears out of his eyes. He was still in war, the loud noises around him told him that he was still fighting. There were too many people in the harbor. Something bad was going to happen. Before he was able to take a step, a man had come up to him and started talking to him in a low, soothing voice. He took out the earbuds and stared blankly at the man. Something he said had clicked within Alfred, but what had he said?

"Are you okay? Do fireworks scare or trigger you?"

Fireworks. They weren't bombs they were fireworks.

Alfred told himself that repeatedly, but every time another went off, he was dragged back to the beach. He felt a slight tug on his arm and looked down to see Kiku. He was leading him somewhere. The whole world was a blur as Alfred followed Kiku's lead. They rushed through the crowd of people unapologetically, weaving through the groups of people. Alfred was pushed into a cab with Kiku following close behind. After saying something to the driver, Kiku looked at Alfred and began talking to him. It was in one ear and out the other. Alfred was still disoriented from what had happened. He heard Kiku sigh as he put the earbuds back in Alfred's ears.

Alfred had suddenly stopped when the fireworks started. His eyes became wide with fear as he held his head. He vomited and fell to his knees, shaking violently. People came up and asked if he was alright, and honestly, Kiku didn't know the answer to that. He had shook Alfred, trying to pull him from his trance. Alfred sat there, his shaking hands reached out, as if ready to grab something. Kiku had tried a handful of things before giving up and calling Matthew.

"Get him out of there. Get him to the hotel." Matthew instructed over the phone.

(x)

Alfred was being pulled in a million different directions. Matt met them in the hotel lobby. Alfred stared blankly at Matt as he talked to him. His words didn't process in Alfred's mind, as he was still disoriented from the flashback. Matt eventually took him back to their room and guided him to bed. It didn't take him long to fall asleep, the bed was soft and the blanket were plush. It felt nice to be surrounded by warmth and comfort after an exhausting battle.

It was the usual, waking up to fresh images in his mind, but this time he was to tired to try and stay awake. He drifted to sleep soon after waking up every time. He wished he could just be home already, the past few weeks were a living hell for him, and it wasn't going to change as soon as he went home.

Besides a small delay, the plane ride went well. Alfred listened to music the whole time and chewed bubblegum, he really hated pressure change. Matt only got sick once, when they were landing. Maybe one day he'll go a plane trip without getting sick.

Once Alfred got home he sat at his desk to do some paperwork. His hand was no longer thickly wrapped in bandages, but still he still had a thin piece wrapped around his hand to help keep it clean. He continued to listen to music as he slowly got the paperwork done.

(x)

"I am worried about Alfred." Kiku said. He was talking on the phone with Matthew.

The two countries talked about their shared worry for the young country and his mental health. After a while, Kiku got to the true meaning of his call.

"I think Alfred needs a change of scenery. I want him to come live with me in Japan. I have a house in the mountains that is very quiet and calm."

(x)

Alfred was told he was going to live with Kiku for a bit, but he wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Was his own house not good enough? It's not like he could say his two bits on going on the trip anyways, but he wanted to know what had brought this up.

"You need a change of scenery to get better, Al, the city isn't a good place to live anymore." Matthew explained, folding Alfred's clothes and packing them into a suitcase.

(x)

It was a long, quiet drive up to the mountains. Kiku started to talk occasionally about what life was like in the mountains. About the misty mornings and humid afternoons. Alfred was riddled with anxiety the whole drive. There was snow on the ground, and at one point snowflakes drifted lazily in the air. He hated snow with a passion.

Kiku's dog, Pochi, was accompanying them on their trip as well. The medium sized dog slept in the back seat most of the ride, but eventually moved up into Alfred lap and encouraged Alfred to pet him. Pochi was a cute, tan, shiba inu dog, with a red bandana tied around his neck. Alfred loved animals, having one on his lap calmed him somewhat. Pochi was soft and loving, leaning into Alfred's chest as he scratched the dog's chin.

After several hours in the car, Kiku pulled into a long dirt driveway. The house was fairly small, with a porch that wrapped around the house. The only doors appeared to be sliding doors, which was fine by Alfred. He grabbed his things and followed Kiku up a narrow stone walkway, bushes lining the sides. Pochi ran between Alfred's long legs and disappeared into one of the rooms. Kiku took off his shoes and put on a pair of slippers, encouraging Alfred to do the same. He stepped up and looked around the room. A table sat in the middle of the room, with cushions on the sides. A small TV in the left hand corner of the room sat on a shelf. A video game console sat on one of the shelves, accompanied by a few games. There was a closet on the right wall, and another door in the back wall. Kiku instructed Alfred to leave his belongings in this room and follow him. The door on the back wall lead to a fairly large kitchen. Alfred stepped down onto the tile floor, his slippers making a satisfying tap on the floor. A countertop lined the back wall, with a small fridge tucked neatly in the corner. Cabinets were hung on the wall, split into two chunks by a window. A black tile sink sat beneath it, shining in the moonlight. There were two final rooms, a small bathroom, and a bathing room. The bathing room had one large blue tile bathtub, which blended into the tile floors. There was a small window near the ceiling, and a drain in the middle of the room.

Kiku had started making dinner, the smell of meat and vegetables filled the house. Pochi scratched at Alfred's leg, quietly whining. He picked up the fluffy dog, creating a nest for him to lie in with his arms. The dog snuggled into Alfred's arms, tucking his snout into the man's armpit. Alfred wondered where the bedrooms were. He was confident that Kiku would tell him when the time came, though.

During dinner, Kiku did most of the talking.

"Alfred, the main reason why you are here is to speed up your recovery. All of us are worried about you, and we only want to help."

A wide range of emotions were swimming quickly around Alfred. He was mad at Matt for being ambiguous about the details of this trip, but at the same time he felt grateful for having such great friends. He didn't like the fact that people were going out of their way to do this for him, but it was too late to turn back now. He wanted to get better quickly, and if his friends thought this was the best way to aid his recovery, then he would go along with their plan. He struggled to eat with the chopsticks, but he didn't have much of an appetite anyways. Matt must have told Kiku to make sure he should eat, because Kiku got up and handed him a fork in the middle of the meal.

"I don't want you to be afraid to practice your speech around me," Kiku explained, feeding Pochi a bit of meat, "There is a mountain town about a mile away, but there is also a city at its base. There are neighbors and farms, but everything is fairly spread out."

Kiku explained that they would be sleeping on futons in the other room, and that it might take a few nights to get used to. The closet was bigger than Alfred had originally thought, and was able to keep both Kiku and Alfred's clothes in there. Once both of them bathed they relaxed; Kiku focused intensely on a book he was reading, and Alfred did work on his laptop.

Alfred could hear the wildlife chirping outside as they fell asleep. This certainly was different from the loud sounds of the city. His friends certainly made the right choice.

**((Now we really get into the good stuff. Reviews are highly appreciated!))**


End file.
